Don't Cry Sweet boy
by HpFanficFan
Summary: COMPLETE. Number 4 burned to the ground on the coldest evening of the year. Was it an accident? Arson? Or was it something else? It did not matter, for Harry, his child, is safe. Severitus. Babyfic.


**Disclaimer: **I, hpfanficfan, does not own Harry Potter and associates. This fic is made by a fan for fans and no monetary compensation has been received. WB, and whatever publishing company have rights to HP.

**Summary:** COMPLETE. Number 4 burned to the ground on the coldest evening of the year. Was it an accident? Arson? Or was it something else? It did not matter, for Harry, his child, is safe. Severitus. Babyfic.

**A/n:** Okay, the 1st verse is what my dad used to sing to me, translated from Chinese so the rhymes' gone. The rest I just made up. Hope u like.

**Warning: **Child Abuse

**Please Don't Cry, Sweet Boy**

**By hpfanficfan**

It was night amidst of a cold winter. The streets of Little Winging were deserted; few creatures dared venture out into the coldest evening of the year. The dry, crisp air made it hard to breathe for the very young and old. There was no snow, no hail or freezing rain. Only a light killing breeze stirred the unmoving night. But something was to destroy the muted scene that was Privet Drive, a happening hidden from the prying eyes of Muggles.

Three figures stood in front of Number 4; an old gentleman, an elderly madam and a figure cloaked in black robes. The cloaked man stood in the very front, as silent and unmoving as the night once was. This man never cried, not until tonight. For he has lost something so precious and so dear to his heart that no one could console him. Nothing could mend a heart that broke like petals from a spring flower.

Number 4 had been decimated by sudden fire. Muggle police and firefighters arrived first and were baffled. Could it be the heater? Or was it arson? Even before the investigation began, the Muggles knew that this was no ordinary fire. The Number 4 Fire, as it became known, was the strangest fire the veteran fire chief had ever witnessed in his 25 years of service.

The house and all its foundations had been reduced to ash that was still smouldering in the frigid cold night. The entire square looked like the remains of a summer's wildfire. But nothing, not a single flicker of flame reached beyond the borders of Number 4 property. Not a single blade of grass had been touched in the neighbouring yards. It was as if Number 4 had been encased in a concrete box, set ablaze with powerful incendiaries and let ravage by brimstone.

Fire simply did not act that way; at least not to any Muggle. When the magical beings arrived, a barrier was created around Number 4 and the Muggles sent back to their homes and stations, their memories modified.

Thus, the three figures stood in shared silence.

No one could have survived such a blaze and yet, the most vulnerable, the most fragile living thing did; a toddler not yet three years old. At first glance, the child was believed to be dead, burnt alive or killed by smoke. There he lay in the middle of the ruin, covered in black ashes and as still as a lifeless dove. But when the figure cloaked in black drew near, a cry was heard and hearts leapt.

The toddler cried.

The dark silhouette bent down and touched the child so gently with his callous hands that the child stilled for a moment in wonder. For long has he felt such kindness.

The man let out long shuttering breath. He closed his eyes for a moment as relief sank in. Another drop of tear escaped.

"Severus," the old gentleman called his name but Severus did not hear.

He swallowed harshly and drew out a wand. The wand lingered over the toddler's body and a warm red light lit at the tip of it. Severus gasped. He reached out again and brushed the child's skin.

The toddler's skin was hot to the point of burning. A fever was raging through his system as if the fire that had burned down Number 4 was living inside of him.

Yet there was not a burnt on the child.

But greater hurts lay beneath. The boy was dressed scarcely in crumpled old rags that were entirely too big for him. And beneath the scorched clothing were scars to many to count. Black and blue bruises, large and small spread over the skin forming a brutal collage. Every single rib could be seen from the front and sides. Protruding like blood vessels would over a muscular arm. And there were welts that should not be seen on any living soul.

Last but least, a single uniquely shaped scar carved into the soft skin of the child's forehead.

What has happened to this child? His child?

This bruised and battered boy was his son. What a terrible mistake was it to let this sweet boy go. They say that you never know how precious something until it is taken away. This child was no accident, he was a gift and Severus almost realized too late what a gift it was. What kind of a father was he? He'd abandoned his only son to a life of abuse and neglect. If only he hadn't been such a coward. If only he'd taken responsibility. If only he's understood. But enough with the 'if onlys', he would not make the same mistake again. He would take the boy home and show him love and care.

"Severus?"

Severus again did not answer.

The old gentleman came up behind the cloaked figure and rested a weary hand on his shoulder. "Take him to Hogwarts, my boy. We will finish things here."

The only indication that Severus had heard was that he stood up, cradling the still crying babe as gently and tightly as he dared. The man's face was set in stone and showed no emotion. His eyes, however, showed what turmoil he felt.

He spared not a glance for elderly man and woman as he stepped away from the ashes. The only thing he was concerned about now was his child.

"It's okay, Severus. Harry is strong and so are you. You will both get through this," said the madam when Severus walked past her. Still, Severus remained silent.

He rocked the crying child. This boy had suffered and knew at too young an age the meaning of pain and hunger. It was his fault.

Tonight's fire was no accident, it was no arson; indeed it was magic. The destruction of Number 4 was caused by Wild Magic summoned by a desperate plea. The Wild Magic came and did its deed.

"Hush now, child," Severus spoke. "Papa has you."

The child sniffed and trembled, starting at Severus with his big green eyes half filled with fear half with hope.

"Papa?"

Severus shuttered at those words. Indeed he was this boy's papa. He looked into Harry's tear filled eyes and answered his son.

"Yes. Papa has you now. Please don't cry, sweet boy."

"Papa," Harry whispered and buried his head into Severus' chest.

"Shh," said Severus as he rubbed Harry's back. "Don't cry sweet boy, papa has a song for you."

"The eastern sun is sinking beneath the hills.  
My sweet little babe is falling to sleep.  
Take you up into my arms,  
Singing a gentle lullaby.

Don't cry sweet babe, my cherished child  
For I am here now.  
You are mine,  
And I will not let go.

The eastern sun has set behind the hills  
My sweet little babe sleeping in my arms  
Rocking you back and forth,  
still humming my lullaby.

Sleep now my sweet babe, my cherished child.  
or I am here now,  
You are mine,  
And I will never let you go.

In the darkness of the departed sun,  
Under light of the waning moon.  
Take you up and hold you close,  
Not yet ceasing my song.

Don't cry my sweet babe, my cherished child.  
For I am here now,  
You are mine,  
And I will never let you go."

You're going home, sweet boy," said Severus as swept his son away from the haunting ruin and took him home.

**The end**

Please tell me what you think.


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